


Poly Jolly Christmas

by patentpending



Category: Original Work, Poly Jolly Christmas (Thomas Sanders Short), Thomas Sanders Shorts
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Crack Treated Seriously, M/M, Polyamory, Romantic Comedy, Thinly Veiled Criticism of Society, Thomas Sanders Shorts - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28350624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patentpending/pseuds/patentpending
Summary: Chad’s girlfriend left him for a small-town baker who taught her the true meaning of Christmas.  Brandon’s for a Christmas Prince in disguise.  Brad’s for the son of Santa.They’re the jerky ex-boyfriends left behind for a rom-com happy ending.  But when they meet, maybe they can find a happy ending of their own.(You knowthat Thomas shortabout a polyamorous Christmas romcom?  Yeah.)
Relationships: Chad Rockwell / Brandon Markovnikov / Brad White, Original Male Character / Original Male Character / Original Male Character
Comments: 92
Kudos: 157





	Poly Jolly Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> 24 hours late to the party as usual B)
> 
> Is this an original work??? Is this a joke because I also wanted a polyamourous romcom taken too far??? Did I average over 1k a day writing this??? Who’s to say
> 
> Minor tw’s for alcohol consumption, food, and something that could be seen as disassociation

“Kayley, you’re not making any sense.” Chad Rockwell pinched the bridge of his nose under his Gucchi sunglasses. “You left for your small hometown to save your parent’s failing bakery what… four days ago? And now you’re breaking up with me?”

Over the phone, Kayleigh squeaked back something indistinguishable.

“What do you _mean_ you met someone and he taught you the true meaning of Christmas?”

“You just don’t understand,” Kaeyeligh cried. “You couldn’t even bother to visit my family for the holidays!”

“Of course I couldn’t, babe! My business deal was about to be locked up!”

“That’s not what this time of year is about!”

“Uh, have you looked around?” Chad snorted. “There’s nothing _but_ business going on! We’ve got to wrangle every single penny out of these seasonally-sappy suckers.”

“That’s your problem, Chad,” Kaiyeighlaeih sighed. “You don’t understand what this season is. I learned the true meaning of Christmas. But you don’t have the first idea what it is.”

“Kaeyelayeght,” Chad protested, but the line clicked dead.

Chad Rockwell was, above all else, a working boy.

And, at this time more than ever, he was up to his ass in shit.

So, when his girlfriend of five years broke up with him just over a week before Christmas just because he was focusing on his career of sucking the life and soul out of everyone who had to engage in finance, he swallowed back the extremely manly tears that rose to his eyes, and continued working on his very important business excel sheets.

He moved a cell one row over.

Moved it back.

Nodded.

This was a good day of business.

He found himself settled at the deep oaken counter of dimly lit bar not half an hour later. It wasn’t his typical Business Bar, where he and The Boys would discuss Business over Beer and The Game. He could never be seen sulking in that bar, for fear that one of his business associates would see him in such a disastrous state.

This bar was much more run-down.

The silverware was just stainless steel, and the napkins had a thread count of only 200.

The Christmas cheer blanketing the rest of town seemed out of place here – the multi-colored lights strung up fighting futilely to pierce the shadows old as the building itself. A scrawny Christmas tree quietly wilted in the corner, and the bartender kept scowling and shoving her reindeer headband back as it threatened to slip down over her eyes.

“Crown and seven,” he said, gesturing to her. “Make it a double. I’m having a day.”

She laughed, not unkindly, wiping the inside of a martini glass. “One of three – what are the odds?”

He clicked his tongue, dark glasses hiding his eye roll. “Less talk-y, more drink-y.”

Her lip curled, but she whisked herself away without another word.

Chad drummed his fingers against the countertop, pulling his phone back out. Checking his bank account’s balance always cheered him up. The bar’s other patrons chattered, placing their orders, but he tuned them out as he swiped through his emails, letting himself be soothed by the steady stream of business and talk of money.

“Crown and seven – double shot,” the bartender said, a solid thunk of glass against wood accompanying her words.

“Yeah,” Chad said, absently, reaching for it, only to find two hands blocking his way.

Three men looked up and locked eyes.

To Chad’s left was a man wrapped up in a cashmere scarf and a wool coat that looked like it cost more than most people’s rent, leaning against the bar – all long legs and bored eyes.

To his right was a man with a white tie and vacant smile, tilting his head like a confused puppy. His black shirt sleeves were pushed up, revealing impressive forearms.

“Excuse me,” the bored man drawled, arching a perfectly-plucked eyebrow. “But you appear to have your grubby mits all over my drink.”

“I think that’s mine, actually?” The other man pipped in, trying to slide it closer to him. “She said crown and seven – that’s my order.”

“And that plus a double shot is mine,” Chad interrupted, blocking the drink’s movement. “Sorry, hot stuff, but I guarantee neither you nor Mr. Devil wears Prada here needs it more than I do.”

“Prada!?” The scarfed man gasped, mouth falling open. “How dare you, sir. Do you have any idea who I am?”

“I’m Brad White!” The other man chirped.

“You sure are,” the bartender muttered, sardonically.

“I am none other than Brandon Markovnikov!” He stuck his nose in the air. “Premier fashion businessman. I would never sully myself with a product as cheap as Prada, darling.”

“Great to meet you, I’m Chad Rockwell, yadda yadda yadda,” Chad said, dryly. “But I can guarantee that neither of you have had as bad of a day as me.”

“Oh.” Brad deflated, sinking into the seat next to Chad. “I’m not sure about that.”

“In fact, I believe I can guarantee that’s not true,” Brandon said, primly settling on Chad’s other tide.

“Really?” Chad scoffed. “My girlfriend Kaylayleyelegh dumped me over the phone for some guy that ‘taught her the true meaning of Christmas’, just because I couldn’t make it to her folk’s house! I mean, can you believe she broke up with me? I was just focusing on my finance business career! And money!”

“Actually, I can,” Brandon said, dryly. “My girl dumped me because she ended up meeting a guy who turned out to be a ‘Christmas Prince’ in disguise.”

“Tell me about it,” Brad sighed, mouth downturned and shoulders slumped. “My girl fell in love with the son of Santa.”

Chad and Brandon exchanged a glance.

 _‘Santa?’_ Chad mouthed.

Brandon shrugged, fiddling with his expensive scarf, then blinked, catching Chad’s eye. “Wait,” he said softly, almost hesitantly. “Did you say you liked… business?”

“Oh, yes.” Chad blinked, flustered. “Do you… like business?”

“Yes,” Brandon said, voice breathless. “And–”

“Money.”

Both their heads snapped towards Brad, who smiled, bright and guileless. “I really like business _and_ money!”

“Oh,” Chad said, faintly, suddenly very aware their hands were all still touching.

“What, um, what business do you do?” Brandon asked, and Chad could’ve sworn he was blushing.

“Um…” Brad rubbed the back of his neck, brow furrowing. “The type with spreadsheets? And a lot of paperwork. I like to do it in glitter pens.”

“Very fashionable,” Brandon purred, leaning forward.

Almost reluctantly, Chad pulled his hand back, pushing the drink away from himself. “One of you take it,” he said, “my treat. I’ll buy you another one.”

“Or, you know,” Brandon said, over casually, “we could always split the drink. You know to… save money.”

A glance at Brad showed he looked just as flushed as Chad felt.

“Yeah,” Chad said. “I think we could make that work.”

It was nothing like a kiss, when his lips touched the place Brandon and Brad’s had been, but for some reason, it filled him with the same thrill.

By the time they wrapped up their conversation, the long-suffering bartender had blasted _Closing Time_ three times, loudly and pointedly cleared her throat seven, and finally gave up and snapped at them to get out once.

The three of them stumbled out of the bar, cheeks flushed and eyes bright with the reflections of Christmas lights, strung through the air.

“... so then I said, ‘darling, if I ever matched that belt with those shoes, I’d fire myself!’”

Chad burst into laugher, hiding his face in his hand as Brad snickered along.

“Oh, I would’ve _paid_ to see that!” Chad chuckled, then paused, reconsidering. “Well. I’d probably fire one of my workers first so I wouldn’t lose any money, but I’d still pay.”

“So, um…” Brad rocked back on his heels, fiddling with his sleeves. “I know this is a bit forward, but… would you two be interested in swinging by my business sometime? See how everything runs? We’ve got a lot of spreadsheets, Chad, and” – he flashed a wry smile – “Brandon can judge everybody’s suits.”

“Hm,” Brandon said, but he was smiling, “I suppose I could clear out a few hours.”

Chad winked. “You had me at spreadsheets.”

“Great!” Brad brightened up, bouncing on his toes even as he began to walk away. “I‘ll just text you the details, yeah?”

“You better!” Chad called.

Brad grinned, nearly walked into a light pole, and was gone.

Brandon clicked his tongue. “You hate to see him go, but love to watch him leave.”

“And what about me?” Chad asked, reaching out to touch the edge of Brandon’s scarf.

“I don’t know.” Brandon raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting as he stepped closer. “What about you?”

“Gonna watch me leave?”

“With a view like that?” Brandon laughed. “Darling, how could I resist?”

The snow had crusted over with ice – each footfall like the tap of nails against a keyboard in the night. It was early enough that carolers were still out, their over-enthusiastic voices drifting through the air alongside snowflakes. Red and green lights mixed with the city’s natural layer of grime, staining what should’ve been a snow clean and flat as an unwritten check.

With the cold nipping at his heels and the alcohol buzzing in his veins, Chad could almost forget what had spurred this impromptu meeting.

Almost.

But with every tree he passed – each dressed up more gaudily than the last – he couldn’t help but wonder what Ckaeyeleightgh had meant.

If it wasn’t this – the crush of customers, swarming into and out of each shop and draining it dry like a horde of mosquitoes; the stands selling piping hot chocolate; the commercials that sang out of every radio and television, cajoling and pleading with you to _buy buy buy!_

If it wasn’t that, what on Earth could it be?

“You gotta ten o’clock meetin’ with the PR team to go over the new advertising campaign,” Chad’s secretary said, Jersey accent dripping from her words as she stepped smoothly inside the elevator. “That’ll last ya until about half to noon, where you need to go over the reports the–“

“Clear my afternoon,” Chad said, straightening his tie and fussing over his hair in the elevator’s reflective walls.

“Oh! Um…” She blinked, slowly. “For… for an extended lunch, or…?”

His lips parted, and he floundered for a moment, before decades’ worth of smiling and telling people what they wanted to hear kicked in. “A business venture looks promising. I gave my word to two associates I’ve recently come into contact with that I would investigate personally.”

“Uh-huh.” She clicked her acrylic nails against her iPad – the rhythmic sound filling the small space. “What kinda business, exactly?”

He flashed back to last night, trying to dig up some memory of what Brad did, but all he could recall was that he was rich, had a soft divot at the hollow of his neck Chad wanted to touch, and had made him laugh so hard his stomach hurt.

He apparently was quiet for too long, because she continued, a grin like a migraine crossing her lips.

“And it’s real interesting you’re bringing this up _now_. Because you’d’a told me if youse knew about it earlier, so that means you scheduled it last night. And I know for a fact all you did last night was go to a bar, on account’a you sulking over CAILEEAEKGHN, so…”

Chad stared at the slowly blinking floor numbers and wondered if the elevator always took this long.

“Got a couple’a hot dates, huh, boss?”

“It’s not a date,” he snapped, clutching his briefcase to his chest. If he concentrated, he could pretend it was filled with money, instead of last week’s sectional reports. It brought him some expensive comfort.

She flashed that smile like a headache. “What is it, then?”

The elevators slid open, and he escaped before he could confess that he didn’t know either.

  
  


Brad’s business was throned in the top half of a gleaming black skyscraper, so tall Chad had to tilt his head back and squint to see where it merged into the clouds.

“Makes you hope he isn’t compensating for something,” a cool, drawling voice, lilting with amusement, interrupted his thoughts.

Chad laughed, dryly, turning. “Aren’t you a charmer?”

Brandon, wrapped in a crimson velvet blazer and black linen slacks, smirked. “A man does what he can.”

“Hey, guys!” Brad, bouncing on his toes, waving from the entrance. “Over here.”

“Shall we?” Brandon held out an arm invitingly.

Like a gentleman. Like he expected Chad to take it with a smile, and feel butterflies in his stomach, and want to take him by that cashmere scarf and mess up that perfect quaff.

Well. Messing Brandon up a little he could do, but the rest… 

“Sure.” Chad breezed past him, pretending not to notice the way Brandon’s arm took a moment to fall back to his side, or the way his brow furrowed with something like hurt.

“Welcome to HQ!” Brad gestured broadly, grinning as they exited the elevator and stepped into an open, airy office. 

Brandon whistled lowly, and Chad felt himself sliding down his sunglasses, blinking in astonishment.

The area was massive, with floor-to-ceiling windows that flooded the area with natural light, pooling on the hardwood floors. People dressed in anything from full suits to jeans and a blouse milled about, filling the room with chatter as they flitted from desk to desk, no cubicles or barriers in sight. Ivy climbed the bamboo lattice sectioning off a short staircase leading up to–

“Is… is that a bagel bar?” Chad said, rather dumbly.

Brad winked. “I get munchy.”

Chad took a deep breath and very pointedly didn’t think about all the fun things he could do with that man behind closed doors.

“Techy stuff goes over there, accountant stuff goes over there” – he lead them through the open space, waving to each area – “upper management over there, and I–”

“Mr. White.” A harried-looking woman with a messy bun and bags under her eyes came to a firm stop before them. “Sir, we really need to talk about your budgeting projections for next quarter.”

“What’s the problem?” Brad frowned, tilting his head. “I already told you we need to increase the PR budget to increase the number of expendable workers, since we’re cutting low-skilled job wages to raise our bottom line.”

Brandon made a small noise.

Chad’s thoughts suddenly became a lot harder to repress.

“Yes, but sir–“

Brad cut her off with a wave of his hand and a kind smile. “Put the papers on my desk, okay? After we do the Chicago merger, we’ll have all the wrangle room we need.”

She blinked. “You mean wriggle room?”

“I’ve heard it both ways.”

She sighed. “Yes, sir.”

With the click of her heels against the tile, she was gone.

“What was that about, Mr. my business is glitter gel pens?” Brandon raised an eyebrow, an impressed smile quickly spreading.

Brad laughed, shrugging. “I don’t have to know what I’m talking about to make people think like I do.”

“I’ve never seen fake it till you make it work so efficiently,” Chad chimed in.

He just smiled. “Sink or swim, I guess.”

It wasn’t until a tour through Brad’s office – all gleaming glass and clean chrome – several more attempts to distinguish what, exactly Brad’s business _did_ – “You know these spreadsheets aren’t the entire business, right?” – and a ransacking of the bagel bar that Brandon narrowed his eyes at a hapless person, sipping on a mug of coffee in the corner. “Be right back, darlings. I’ve got to have serious words with them about their choice of white socks with brown loafers.”

He swirled off in a storm of velvet, and Brad laughed.

“He’s something, isn’t he?” There was nothing but admiration and fondness in his voice; Chad had to try a few times before he could find a response.

“You could say that,” he managed.

Brad blinked, head tilting as he took a half-step closer to the other man. “Hey, you okay?”

“Peachy,” Chad said, pushing his tinted glasses up his nose, if just to block the concerned blue eyes shining his way. “Giddy as a stockholder on the market.”

“You don’t have to agree with me, you know. Not until you feel like it,” Brad said. He stopped looking down at Chad, but shifted closer, until their shoulders were brushing as they leaned against the glass walls of Brad’s million-dollar office, watching a man in a Gucci suit dress-down a hapless office worker.

“Say what now?”

Brad lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. “You don’t have to agree with me. About anything, I guess, but about…” With a wry sort of smile, he gestured to Brandon, who had moved on from roasting the worker’s footwear to their jacket, which apparently had an absolutely unforgivable top stitch.

“There’s no reason we all have to go at the same pace, you know? It’d probably be strange if we did. Especially with something like this.”

Chad swallowed down the lump in his throat.

“And what exactly do you think this is, then?”

Brad just smiled and shifted his arm; the backs of their hands pressed together. Brad was warm, skin soft and smooth. All it would take would be the slightest rotation of Chad’s wrist for their hands to slot together.

“Whatever you want it to be.”

Chad laughed, despite himself. “Anyone ever told you that you’re more perceptive than you let on?”

“Not really.” Brad rocked back on his heels, pursing his lips thoughtfully. “Normally when people tell me stuff, it’s more like ‘Molotov cocktails aren’t allowed inside’ or ‘oh my god you set it on fire’ or ‘sir, we’re going to have to ask you to leave the premises’ or ‘Canada isn’t a continent’ – which I’m still not convinced about.”

Chad sighed, but fondness curled up in his chest, warm and purring as a cat. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

“Yeah, they say that a lot too!”

“Did someone say pretty?” Brandon swanned back up to them, practically glowing, leaving a shaking husk of what was once a mild-mannered business person behind him. “Because I have arrived.”

Chad turned to him and was sure he gave some pithy quip, but he could feel Brad’s eyes, surprisingly knowing on his back. But when he looked back, Brad didn’t seem embarrassed to get caught. 

He just met his gaze and smiled.

  
  


“Hiya, boss,” Chad’s assistant – and, fuck, what was her name again? Katie, probably. Most girls were named Katie, right? – flashed him a knowing smile as he walked in. “You have a nice time with your friends?”

Chad flushed for reasons he didn’t feel like articulating, adjusting his sunglasses.

“They’re associates, Katie. Just… business associates.”

“I wasn’t born yesterday, Mistah Rockwell, but nice try.” Probably-Katie grinned, sliding down her cat’s eye glasses. “I haven’t seen you lookin’ this happy in a while, though. Feel like explain’n that?”

“I saw an old man slip and fall in the parking lot,” Chad said, dryly. “Now, do you actually have work to do, or am I paying you to act like my life is one of those Hallmark movies you’re obsessed with?”

“Alright, alright, forget I said anything.” Maybe-Katie held her hands up in pseudo-surrender. “I’m just happy for ya, boss. You were never like this with Keayleayleigh, and it’s… sweet. Seein’ you fallin’ for someone.” She frowned, tilting her head. “Some two?”

Chad elected not to dignify that with a response.

As a general rule, Chad Rockwell didn’t have time for people who weren’t himself.

They were distractions or opponents or people he had to charm just enough to give him another million. He would be the first to admit that he and Caeyleyight were together out of convenience and quick access to a tumble in the hay more than anything, but… 

Chad opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out the small velvet box inside.

He really had thought that they were going to be together for the rest of their lives.

  
  


“Chad!” 

His own name greeted him as soon as he stepped out of his Maserati and onto the snow-dusted parking lot.

Standing beneath the hand-painted sign proclaiming this the _McLain Family Christmas Tree Farm,_ Brad waved enthusiastically, bouncing on his toes, as Brandon stood cooly to the side, the corner of his mouth flirting with amusement.

“Chad! It’s me! Brad! Brandon’s here too! He’s telling me about the Loco channel!”

“Coco chanel, dear.”

“That too!”

Despite himself, a grin tugged its way across Chad’s face.

“Gentlemen,” he said, coming to a stop before them. “How’s the business?”

Brandon sighed, theatrically. “Brisk as always. The new spring collection isn’t quite up to par, but second quarter profits will do if our marketing team gets their ass into gear.”

“Expansion discussions are going great!” Brad chirped. “We had jelly donuts at the meeting.”

“Raspberry or strawberry?” Brandon asked, looping his arm through Brad’s.

“Raspberry, obviously.”

“A man of taste.” Brandon laughed, holding his other arm out for Chad.

Chad looked at it for what felt like a moment too long, hand tapping against his leg. Just an arm. Just a walk with two men who somehow made him feel more than he had in the last five years.

“I’m more of a strawberry fan,” he confessed, taking Brandon’s arm.

“Heathen,” Brandon mock-gasped, smiling.

“I’ll save you some next time!” Brad promised as they began their procession to the park’s entrance.

_Next time._

And didn’t that just ache something inside of him? That there could be something as daunting as a ‘next time’, something where a future with the three of them was seen as a given, and that it could be as sweet as a strawberry donut.

“Thanks,” he said, and if his voice was weak, it was covered by the mill of people around the entrance.

Brad made a small, disappointed sound. “It’s a bit crowded, isn’t it?”

“Doors open in a few minutes.” Chad shrugged. “They must’ve wanted to beat the rush. Or… be the rush, I guess.”

“Hm,” Brandon pursed his lips. “This won’t do.”

He began tugging them towards an older man with a graying beard and a shirt, proudly bearing the same logo that adorned the hand-painted sign above them.

“Brandon?” Brad asked, but the other man just flashed a dangerously pointed smile that did all sorts of interesting things to Chad’s stomach.

“Follow my lead, dear.”

He detached himself from the other men, stopping before the old man with a model’s grace.

“Brandon Markovnikov,” he said without preamble, holding a hand out.

The old man smiled, easily, and shook it. “Jack McLain. Real nice to meet you.”

Brandon sighed, theatrically. “Oh, how I wish I could say the same. You’re the owner of this… fine establishment, are you not?”

“I… I am,” Mr. McLain stammered, looking taken aback. “Inherited it from my parents and been running it for almost forty years now.”

“Is that right?” Brandon took a step back and made a show of observing the farm’s entrance, somehow dripping disdain with nothing more than an arched eyebrow and a tap of his long fingers against his leg.

“Well, Mr. McLain, you see, there’s been a bit of competition introduced to this area recently. You know how it is, people aren’t as keen on real trees anymore. So much easier to buy pre-decorated, straight from the store. We represent a small group of investors, interested in helping your business succeed. All we ask is that you make today’s farm a bit more… private, than it usually would be.”

“I can’t do that!” He protested. “It’s a family tradition. Folks come from all over, looking for just the right tree.”

“And I’m sure it’ll be here tomorrow,” Brandon soothed, then grimaced. “Whether your business will be here next _year_ , though…”

Brad flashed a too-genuine grin. “I’m sure you know how cutthroat catering to the Christmas crowd can be. Especially if another farm, or even a store were to launch a big marketing campaign… I can think of a few places where they could get the money.”

Chad had never felt more attracted to anyone.

“I’m sure we wouldn’t want that to happen,” he chimed in, smoothly. “So maybe it’s better if you cut your losses, close a bit early today, and be able to make it up later in the season, hm?”

The owner reeled back, mouth agape. “You… you guys are _terrible_ people.”

“Not at all, darling,” Brandon said, breezing past him and into the field, the two other men riding his fashionable coattails, “just capitalists.”

As soon as they were properly hidden behind the snow-covered trees, they started to laugh.

“...so I said to him ‘look, I understand that you have to look out for your stockholders, but you gotta break a few eggs to make an omelette!’ Then I showed him our closing numbers in the last quarter – and god, you wouldn’t believe how long it took me to get those bozos in PR to finagle those numbers just right – and managed to get him to…” Chad continued to monologue as the three of them trailed through the snow-crusted trees, ice crunching underfoot. “...and that, alone, managed to raise our final production numbers by five points!”

“Wow,” Brad said, looking suitably impressed, “that’s a lot!” He paused, frowning. “A lot of points. Not a lot of bees though… maybe a lot of bee stings, but I’ve only had seven..”

Brandon blinked, slowly. “Why, exactly, did you have seven bee stings, dear?”

Brad shrugged. “I watched a lot of Winnie the Pooh as a kid,” he said, as if that explained everything.

“Well then.” Brandon laughed, low and throaty. “Either way” – he bounced up on his toes to kiss Chad’s cheek – “good job, darling.”

Chad laughed, softly, gloved hand brushing over the place Brandon’s lips had been. “Thanks,” he said, then flashed a smile at them. “Thank you both, actually. Most people don’t…” He floundered for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek. “Most people tune me out, when I start talking like that. I know most people don’t care about business like I do, so I can’t expect them to listen, but still. It’s… nice. That you guys listen.”

Brandon took his hand and squeezed, just once. “You deserve it,” he said, gently. “You deserve people who listen to you.”

“Yeah, and it’s nice!” Brad chimed in, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “I like hearing what you have to say.”

For some reason, that – that, more than the kiss or the arm or the hands in his own – was what made Chad’s heart feel like it was going to wrench itself right out of his chest.

Lunch on the twentieth. Dinner on the twenty-first. A walk in the park and a pleasant evening of watching the stock market on the twenty-second.

A sinking feeling that won’t let Chad take either of their hands again.

The terrifying realization that when he pictured his future, he was starting to see two other people in it.

It’s the twenty-third when they gather at Brandon’s apartment for dinner.

It’s an avant-garde sort of place, with a gorgeous, entirely unfunctional kitchen and couches that are more for looking at than sitting on. Brad had tried, only for Brandon to explain that ‘no, darling, that one’s a statue’.

They gave up and ordered sushi, sprawling on the thick white carpet – Brandon’s back against the wall, Brad’s legs tossed over his lap, Chad’s head heavy against Brad’s shoulder.

A thousand-dollar bottle of red wine disappeared somewhere in the last hour, but Chad thought he could see flashes of it in the flush of Brad’s cheeks, the mischievous sort of spark in Brandon’s eyes.

They were talking, animatedly – something about the truth of the phrase ‘form over function’, or perhaps Brad just trying to justify his overuse of glitter pens – but Chad was warm, comfortable, in his half-doze.

He shifted down and settled his head in Brad’s lap. A manicured hand – Brandon’s, he thought – combed through his hair, fingers lightly scratching his scalp, without a pause in the conversation.

Chad reached an arm up and took Brandon’s other hand in his own.

Brad looked down at him and smiled.

The ever-present Christmas lights strung up outside glowed through the window and reflected in his blue, blue eyes, warm and liquid. His smile was warm, bright as a flame, and Chad held his breath, for fear that a stray exhalation could put it out.

He reached up with his free hand and touched the slope of Brad’s cheek. Brandon’s gaze was warm, content on them. Brad leaned into the touch, that fire smile growing.

“Hi,” he breathed, in something that would’ve been a whisper if his voice weren’t tripping and bubbling with a quiet type of joy.

And, suddenly, Chad couldn’t think of a single reason why he shouldn’t kiss him.

He leaned up, towards Brad’s downturned face, before Brad parted his lips and leaned back.

“I, uh…” He swallowed, tugging on a curl of his hair. “I have something kinda important to tell you two.”

Chad felt very cold, all of a sudden.

He pulled himself up, sluggish, and exchanged a glance with Brandon.

“Everything alright, darling?” Brandon attempted, laying a hand over Chad’s.

“Yeah, actually!” An ember of that flame smile flickered. “Um, well. Depending on what way you look at it. You know how my office is looking into expansions? I’ve got a meeting with our sister company in Chicago. And if the merger goes through, I’ll… since they let me be in charge, I’ll have to be. Around. For a long time.”

“You…” Chad felt as if the floor was trying to slip out from under his feet. “You’re leaving?”

“Tomorrow, just before midnight.”

“You’ll be relocating permanently then?” Brandon asked, burying his fingers in his own cashmere scarf and twisting until they turned white. “If… if the deal goes through?”

Brad dropped his eyes to the floor. “That’s the plan.”

Kcaeyelaeigh had been just as contrite when she told him she had to head back home for the holidays. At least he had the option to go along, back then.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Chad’s voice was strange to his own ears – grating and harsh.

Brad winced, curling in on himself. “I know I should have. I just didn’t… I didn’t think any of us would want to think about losing another person. Not so soon after… After what happened to all of us.”

Everything was rising up in Chad, too much. Was this it? Was this what was wrong with him, how Kcaeyelayeigh had felt, all those times he had skipped town on a private jet, stayed one late night too many at the office, hadn’t even bothered to visit her family for the holidays.

Well, at least he knew what happened next.

She left.

Chad stumbled to his feet, legs unsteady beneath him.

“Chad?” Brandon looked up, eyes huge.

Without a word, Chad staked to the door.

“Aren’t you going to say goodbye?” Brad said, quietly, helplessly.

Chad paused, then, hand tightening on the doorframe. “I’m going to work.”

He didn’t bother turning around.

The city wasn’t supposed to be this quiet.

It was a bustling place even at the oddest hours, and even from hundreds of feet up, in his office, the sounds of traffic and shouting and ever-present construction typically tapped at his windows.

Lately, they had been joined by carolers, or church bells, ringing yet another hour closer to their most sacred day.

The last one had gone off a while ago. It was just over an hour until Christmas Day.

But it was quiet. Too quiet.

Even as Chad gazed blankly though his picture windows, staring at the fireworks that had probably been illegally set off, he couldn’t hear much of anything.

Or feel, or taste, or smell, or – or anything.

He took another sip of the glass in his hand and wondered if that would be enough to pierce the fog around him like so many sycophantic subordinates.

“It’s Christmas Eve, and where do I find you?” Chad’s secretary, who was probably named Katie, stood in the doorway, hands on her hips. “In your office, wastin’ away in a bottle of scotch.”

“Crown and seven, actually,” Chad said, bitterly, watching it swirl around in his glass. “Although I’m not sure if I like it more or less after all this.”

“Mistah Rockwell,” Katie (?) sighed, crossing the room. “I don’t understand what’s holding ya back. Don’t you like them?”

“Of course I do.” Chad dragged a hand down his face. “I…” 

If he felt less, maybe he could’ve said more. But as it was, Chad Rockwell, so used to artificial bluster and showmanship, just swallowed down the lump in his throat, like that could drown out the emotions that pricked at his eyes and threatened to burst out of his chest.

“I think I was in love with them,” he said, softly. “But I didn’t… I normally ever feel like this about a new deal, or a whole lot of money. Another person, other people… It’s never felt like this, before.”

It was snowing outside – great fluffy flakes that clotted against his windows and threatened to block out the silent city. They were nearly as soft as Katie (??)’s voice, once she spoke again.

“It’s true love, Mistah Rockwell. You think that happens every day?”

“No,” Chad said, softly, staring down at the drink that had started this all. “I guess not.”

“No reason you can’t stop him, you know.”

“It’s too late,” Chad said, grimly. “They don't want to see me. And even if they did, his flight leaves just before midnight. I’d never make it in time.”

Katie (???) _humph_ ed. “That’s a real stupid time for a flight.”

“Cinematic effect.”

“Makes sense.”

“Besides, it’s… fitting.” Chad laughed, bitterly, but his voice was soft with fondness: “he’s kind of a stupid guy.”

“But he’s a stupid guy you wanted to spend the rest of your life with, right? And Brandon too?”

“Yes,” he said, and his chest ached with the truth of it. “More than anything, yes.”

“Then what are you doing here!” Katie(????) squeaked, gesturing emphatically. “Boss, ya gotta go after them!”

“You’re right.” Chad stumbled to his feet, heart roaring in his ears. “God damn it, Katie, you’re right! I’ve been so scared, because I’ve seen what happens when you build another person into your life, but they’re worth it. All that fear, all that pain – it’ll be worth it, just to have them, for however long they’ll have me.”

“My name is Genevieve.”

“Sure,” he agreed, not listening. “Katie, call a cab! I’ve got a plane to catch.”

“On it, boss!”

Chad threw on a scarf while tying his shoes and nearly toppled over, when a frantic knocking came at his office door.

And there he was.

One third of his heart.

Brandon stood in his doorway, hair disheveled and thousand dollar shirt wrinkled. “I just had a very serious heart-to-heart with my gay best friend and the only Black person I know,” he said.

“That is how these things normally go, yes.”

“And I… realized that I can’t lose this, Chad. Whatever this is, in whatever form I can have you - both of you, I need it. I know it’s hard, since Khayeneleigh just left you and Meichayela is now a Princess in some European country that claims to exist, but I can’t find it on a map and everyone sounds suspiciously British there–“ He took a deep breath, shook his head.

“I know what it feels like, to feel like you’ve already been told you’re not good enough. That you’re lacking, or you’re missing something. If anyone understands, Chad, Brad and I do. But I don’t think you are. To me…” Brandon released a shuddering breath. “You have no idea how perfect you are to me.”

“Brandon,” Chad said, breathlessly, “is now a good time to tell you I’m in love with you?”

Brandon laughed that low, smooth chuckle and hid his blush in his scarf. “I can’t think of a better one.”

“Oh,” Chad said, “good.” 

And he kissed him.

“Boss, this is real sweet ‘n all, but you gotta get out of here!” Katie-who-was-really-named-Genevieve squeaked. “The cab’s outside, but his flight is leavin’ real soon!”

“On it.” Chad took Brandon’s hand in his and squeezed. “Ready?”

Brandon squeezed back. “Time to get our man.”

“The airport, fast,” Chad snapped, throwing a wad of cash at the cab driver.

The driver swore in a low, impressed tone, as he held more money than he usually made in a month. “Buddy, I’ll take you to Mars for this much.”

“Get us to the airport in ten minutes without crossing international borders, and I’ll double it,” Brandon said, slamming the cab door shut behind him.

The cabbie grinned. “Hang on to your stomachs.”

Tires squealed as he swerved into traffic, a flower of smoke blossoming in their wake.

“You’re really good at this,” Chad gulped, clinging to the handle above the door as the cabbie swerved around a hotdog cart, skidded for a few yards on the sidewalk, and skipped the curve back into the stream of racing cars.

He shrugged, laying on the horn as he narrowly squeezed into a gap between two eighteen wheelers. “You’re my fifth desperate dash to the airport today. It’s sort of a holiday tradition.”

“How charming,” Brandon gasped, wondering if he had time to go back for his internal organs, which he was pretty sure had bounced out seven potholes ago.

Christmas lights zipped past in a blur of green and red – flashing like so many sirens.

It was half an hour to midnight.

“God damn it,” Chad snapped, “hurry!”

He and Brandon slammed back into their seats as the cabbie floored it, the smell of burning rubber filling the car.

Three blocks left. Two blocks. One.

The car skidded to a stop, leaving black streaks behind on the pavement.

“Thanks,” Brandon croaked, shoving another wad of bills at the cabbie, who would now very comfortably be able to pay for his children’s and grandchildren’s college tuition.

“Merry Christmas!” He called, but they had already disappeared inside the airport.

“Hi there!” The woman behind the ticket counter chirped. “How can I help you?”

“The love of our life is about to leave for Chicago for forever,” Brandon gasped, winded from the incredible amount of sprinting they had been doing.

“And we need to stop him,” Chad finished, wheezing.

“Alrighty then!” She tapped something onto her keyboard. “So, that flight is leaving in about fifteen minutes, so according to our holiday last-minute reconciliation policy, I’m afraid you will have to pay a bit more for arriving so late. Luckily though, we just ask you to step through a metal detector, and you’re good to go!”

Chad fished out his wallet as Brandon stepped into the short line behind a harried woman.

“I know I only met Leyligh twelve hours ago,” she said, tearfully, without preamble, “but I need to confess that I’m the crown princess of Czechromaussia and ask her to be my dutchess. I just know that she loves me for me, not my crown.”

Brandon took a step back.

Despite it all, he held certain resentments for royalty.

Chad joined him a few moments later, buzzing with barely-restrained anxiety.

They made it through security with five minutes left.

Chad swore, softly. “His gate’s on the other side of this place.”

Brandon grabbed his hand. “Then I suppose we’d better run.”

They took off at a sprint, careening around harried passengers and tearful reunions. Brandon saw the princess down on one knee before a tall woman with coils of natural hair, who clasped her hand over her mouth and nodded, before reaching down to kiss her. Chad attempted to jump over a stack of suitcases, knocked them over, and kept running.

Overhead, an announcement blared through the speakers: _“Last call for Alpha flight 860 to Chicago. All passengers to the boarding area.”_

“Run!” Chad cried, hand clenched desperately in Brandon’s.

“What,” Brandon huffed, scarf flapping behind him, “does it look like I’m doing!?”

They skidded to a stop just in front of the picture windows.

Just in time to see the plane life off the end of the runway, taking off into the snowing gray skies.

“We missed him,” Brandon said, hollow. “We… that’s not how these things are supposed to work. We were supposed to catch up to him, just before he stepped aboard. To stop him. Weren’t we?”

“Yeah,” Chad said, pressing his forehead against the window and watching the red tail lights fade into the clouds. “We were.”

“Oh, hey, guys!”

Chad sniffed. “It’s like I can still hear his voice.”

“Um, Chad?” Brandon put a hand on his shoulder and turned him around. “You can.”

And there he was.

One third of Chad’s heart.

Wearing a white tie and vacant smile, tilting his head like a confused puppy – black shirt sleeves were pushed up.

“You’re… here?” Chad said, as if he was testing out the truth of it.

“Of course I am!” He beamed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“We thought that” – Brandon gestured vaguely out the window – “was your flight.”

“Hm? No it’s not. I’m on flight 098.” He held out his boarding pass. “See?”

Brandon took it, and Chad slid down his sunglasses, blinking.

“You had it upside down, darling.”

“Huh,” Brad said, thoughtfully. “That does explain why my name was spelled pajd. I’ll have to hop on the next one, I guess.”

“Brad, you can’t!” Chad protested, grabbing his hand. “We don’t want to lose you.”

“Darling, stay here.” Brandon stepped forward, taking his other hand. “We love you.”

“I know,” Brad said, swallowing. “I love you both, too. But I have to do this. I thought if anyone would understand putting my career first, it’d be you.”

“I do,” Chad said. “Which is why I have an idea.”

He stepped back and slowly lowered himself to one knee.

“Let’s merge our companies.”

“What?!” Brad said, red creeping up his neck. 

Brandon, eyes wide, echoed the sentient: “Chad, what are you saying?”

“You need to grow,” Chad said, simply. “We all do. We’re here, together, because we aren’t the leading men. We aren’t the selfless ones, or the romancers. We’re the selfish, jerky ex-boyfriends. Kæyleaight was right. I didn’t know the true meaning of Christmas. Not until the two of you. It’s not about business” – they grimaced – “it’s about doing business with the ones you love.” 

They nodded, relieved.

“I’ve been so scared of actually having to work on myself and open myself up to possibilities where the world didn’t revolve entirely around my wants. But I don’t have to, as long as I make it _our_ wants.”

He flashed a smile: half hesitation, half hope. “So, yes. You need to grow. But there’s no reason we can’t grow ourselves, and our bank accounts, together.”

Brandon and Brad exchanged a silent glance – a quirk of the eyebrow, a lifting of the lips, a softening of the eye.

Chad’s knee was starting to ache. “So?”

“Yeah,” Brandon said, smiling. “I think we can make that work.”

Brad laughed, throwing his arms around Chad, who went sprawling, pulling Brandon down with them. They landed in a pile, quite possibly bruised, but incandescent.

Somewhere nearby, a clock chimed, twelve times – deep and resonant.

Chad laughed, pushing up his sunglasses to scrub at his eyes. “Merry Christmas.”

“What do you want, this year?” Brad’s eyes shone with mischief.

And, finally, Chad reached up to kiss him.

“There’s only one thing I want,” Brandon said, softly, giving Brad a kiss of his own.

They all spoke at once, three parts of a whole heart.

_“Money.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe the real true love was the capitalism we found along the way
> 
> Roast me if you see a typo, Cowards


End file.
